Why
by Quiet Solitude
Summary: For those of you that read the other story, you know what's going on with Robbie. This one takes a step back in his relationship with Wendy, back to their first kiss. But it's a poorly planned night for it based on events that happened eight years ago...


"Thompson! Thompson! Thompson!" they chanted, laughing as the anxious teenager cautiously bit into a mushroom that may or may not give rise to colorful hallucinations. Robbie rolled his eyes, smiling ironically to himself. If they only knew the drugs _he_ was into, the hallucinations _he_ had seen, no one would think this a laughing matter—Wendy least of all. So why did _he_ think it was hilarious?

But his thoughts soon turned from the dark closet in his room where he kept his paraphernalia to the tilt of Wendy's head when she laughed; the way her shoulders bounced up and down, the way her eyes closed and then opened again, all filled him with peace. Her very being burst with sparks of life, love, beauty, purpose, meaning, fulfillment. Robbie's smile shifted from ironic to genuine.

. . .

"I can't believe he actually ate it! When do you think he'll come down?" Wendy asked later that night. She and Robbie had driven up to the cemetery after Thompson had walked into a pine tree, claiming that gnomes were telling him there was a secret entrance right in front of his face. The group had pretty much doubled over in laughter until Tate suggested they leave before anyone heard them. The guys had carted Thompson off—having planned for him to stay over at Lee's house anyway—and, as last updated, was now only suffering from a bit of spotty vision.

"Probably pretty soon. I'm surprised he's not passed out on the couch or something. He's staying awake much longer than I—" Robbie caught himself. He had been going to say, "—than I did the first time I used," but recovered quickly with, "—than I would've guessed."

Wendy, apparently not noticing his millisecond hesitation, stretched out on the ground, putting her hands behind her head and looking up at the stars. Robbie did the same, enjoying the quietness of the evening. They lay in silence for a while, enjoying the cool grass and the loneliness of the place. _This is it_ …Robbie thought. _The perfect moment_ …

He turned to his right only to see Wendy facing back at him with a warm, gentle smile on her lips. "I like to watch you gazing at the stars," she said. "You seem so at peace with the world."

 _If she only knew what I was thinking of_ , Robbie thought. _Fuck it. Let her know_. Not quite aware of what he was doing, but knowing it felt right, he pulled her close, stealing a kiss from those soft lips.

She retreated slightly, but only to look into his eyes—those wonderful eyes of hers!—and he could feel himself genuinely smile for the second time that day. It _had_ to be a record.

They kissed again—long, slow, and passionate. Robbie felt as if he were flying, as if nothing had ever gone wrong, as if all were right with the world. This felt better than any high; his head was spinning faster than it ever had; he didn't want this moment to end…

When they came up for air, Wendy looked down at her watch. "Hey, waddya know? Our first kiss, and at midnight!" She stuck out her wrist to show him.

Robbie's words caught in his throat. "M-midnight?" he stammered. Sure enough, Wendy's glow-in-the-dark watch shone 12:01.

Panic rose in his stomach like a virus. The air seemed to suddenly become heavy; it was a chore simply to bring it in and out of his lungs. "Wendy…I—I've got to go." He leaped up from the dewy ground, sprinting to the van and holding his stomach. He felt sick; throwing up would be better than what was about to happen.

Wendy's face contorted in concern as she followed urgently. "Robbie, are you okay? Do I need to drive?"

"No!" he snapped, taking a step back from her and grabbing onto the handle of the driver's door. "No, I'm fine, I just…we need to go." He didn't mean to be rude, but he _had_ to drive. He _had_ to distract himself. "Please, just…just get in the van. I'll take you home."

The ride to town was bumpy, speedy, and silent. Robbie could feel the blood draining from his face; if possible, he was growing even paler. He tried to focus his mind on the road, tried to ignore Wendy's worried and concerned glimpses, tried even more to shove away the memories that insisted on flooding his mind. He had to keep it together…for her…

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" Wendy said as they pulled up to her house in a screeching halt. "Are you sure you're okay? You're acting really weird."

Robbie tried to keep the desperation from his voice as he shakily replied, "Yeah, I'm fine! I'm fine. I just…I have a curfew, you know? I…I'm sorry."

Wendy cast him one more look of concern and confusion, then got out of the van. He could tell she didn't believe him, but offered nothing more to cover the puny lie. "Still…expect that call from me tomorrow. And Robbie…I really enjoyed our kiss."

At any other time those words would've made Robbie jump for joy, but at the moment he only had strength to manage a weak smile. His nerves _did_ calm down a bit, though.

He started down her driveway towards his house, allowing the memories he was fighting a little more freedom to wander into his thoughts.

. . .

 _Pale blue light came from the game-boy that eight-year-old Robbie was playing in the backseat of the family car. He had muted the sound after his mother's earnest insistence, but Robbie knew he was about to beat his high score even without the sharp chimes that rang out every time he collected coins. Just a few more points…he had to concentrate…_

 _"Okay, Robbie. It's time to give your brother a turn." He barely acknowledged his mother's voice, looking up just long enough to snatch the game out of five-year-old Matthew Valentino's reach._

 _"Mooooooommmmmm, he's not shaaaaaarrrrriiiiiiing!" his younger brother whined, causing Sandra Valentino to turn in the passenger's seat to face the back._

 _"Robbie, I said it's Matthew's turn. Now give him the game."_

 _Young Robbie suppressed a sigh. Matthew was always ruining his fun! "Just a few more minutes, Mom! I'm about to reach my high score!"_

 _The squirming sibling, however, wouldn't wait any longer. He lunged across the backseat, his tiny hands grabbing madly for the game-boy. "MY! TURN!"_

 _Robbie was quicker, immediately lifting his left foot and planting it hard into the center of Matthew's stomach, knocking the five-year-old back on his side of the car with a thud._

 _Silence hung in the air for only a second; then chaos erupted. Matthew began wailing, clawing and punching at Robbie with clenched fists while Robbie fought back with his legs, still hanging onto the game for dear life. Half their Mother's body hung over her seat as she tried in vain to separate the two, and out of the corner of his eye Robbie saw his father's head swivel around—eyes filled with fire—as he shouted, "ROBBIE STACEY VALENTINO!"_

 _"Charles, watch out!" his mother yelled as she looked over her shoulder towards the road. Suddenly, the car gave a violent jerk, slamming Robbie into the door. There was a loud CRASH—Robbie didn't know which way was up; a shooting pain went across his right leg. Through the sounds of crunching metal and shattering glass, the shriek of a small child pierced through the noise…_

. . .

Robbie didn't realize the screaming in his ears was his own until he pulled into his driveway. How he got there in one piece he didn't know, but didn't care. Immediately he silenced himself and—with visions of horror swimming before his eyes—he parked the van and stole quietly into the back door.

The house was still; no one bothered to stay up for him anymore, especially not tonight. His parents had their own memories and guilt to sleep off, which Robbie preferred much better than their plastered-on smiles and false cheerfulness. Missing the squeaky step, he made a b-line for his room—his closet, to be more specific.

He let the sigh of relief escape freely from his lips as he pushed down the plunger of the needle, feeling the comforting wave of the drug as it entered his arm. _Damn_ , he thought, _the vein here's nearly shot; I'll have to find another._ Already the clouds of memory were thinning; the tiny corpse disintegrated before his eyes, replaced with the dim purple light in his room. The screams seemed distant; instead of flying from the car, he had slipped into a dark hole. It was quiet and warm there, with no ghosts lurking in the corners, no echoes of a past companion, no guilt eating away at his brain…

Robbie awoke hours later to the sound of his parents' chipper voices calling him down to breakfast. Still riding out the drug, he called down that he wasn't hungry, rolled on the crinkled sheets that was his bed towards the wall, and closed his eyes to the world.


End file.
